Mrs Commish and I are coming up on 17 years of blissful marriage.
I don’t know how it happened.   All I know is a lot of people lost money on how long we’d stay together.

So last week we had an opportunity to get away for a couple of nights without kids.

Bridget was at an overnight camp and the Wife’s parents offered to take the boys up to their house so we could get away.

So off we went.  Into Boston for two whole nights.

The first night we had dinner, walked around, did some shopping, and ahem, went to sleep.

The next morning, we woke up feeling ambitious so we hit the gym, grabbed a quick bite for breakfast, and then we went to IKEA.

Um, what?

Yeah.  It appears that even though we were sans kids, we still felt the need to run down to Stoughton so we could look at some bedroom furniture for the little ball of fire known as Tyler.

(He’s moving into his own room this year b/c older brother Aidan is heading to Middle School.  earlier bus schedule, etc…)   I know, T.M.I.

So,

Did it have to be done when the kids were gone?  No.

Do I enjoy shopping for furniture in a place like IKEA?  Hell No.

Did the wife talk me into doing it somehow?  Hell yes.

So off we went.  Our game plan was simple.  Get down there quick and sprint through the place taking pictures of the items we like.  In and out in an hour.

We were like Jake and Ellwood.

As I drove down Route 95, I became Jake Blues.   The wife was riding shotgun in the blues mobile,  telling me on more than one occasion to slow down.  To which I’d respond:

“Honey,  it’s a hundred and six miles to Chicago.  We got a full tank of gas, a half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses”

(Now she was wondering how we’ve been married for 17 years)

And then we arrived at IKEA, and I was transformed into Clark W Griswold.

The number of people pouring into the parking garage was staggering.  It reminded us of when you pull into Walt Disney World and everyone’s in huge rush to get inside before the long lines form at the cool rides.

But the thing is, you’re not at an amusement park.  You’re at a wherehouse full of crap, that you can’t get out of until you walk through the entire maze they’ve built.

Everything’s really cheap (I mean, affordable) so when you walk in you’re transformed into Rodney Dangerfield.

“Yo Wang, it’s a parking lot.  I’ll take two of those, give me six of those”

But that wears off in a few minutes, and then you realize you’re on a death march.

And by the time you get to the end, you’re Jake Blues again.

So there you have it.

Jake Blues, Clark W Griswold, Rodney Dangerfield, and full circle to Jake Blues again.

You know what, I actually highly recommend a trip to IKEA.

Lolita Cocina & Tequila Bar.

The wife and I had dinner at this place a couple of weeks ago, and it was awesome.

Great room, great vibe, great food, great margaritas…  What more can I say.

I loved the place as soon as I walked in.

And then I went to the bathroom and this was on the Men’s room door.

I mean, are you serious?

It’s a little slice of Badger heaven.  Check it out sometime.

http://www.lolitatequilabars.com/locations/boston

When I’m in different cities (like Chicago on this particular occasion) and it’s nice out, I try to get outside and run.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a runner. I think running sucks.

It’s up there with going to the dentist, or having to sit through 4 hours of a dance recital, only to see your daughter on stage for 1.5 minutes.  (thank god those days are gone)

But you have to get outside while it’s nice.

Years ago I could get a run in without much incident.

Now I can’t even get out the door w/out some kind of pain (hamstring, calf, back etc…) and that’s just from stretching.

Then the chest hurts once I start running.  (Yes, I wonder if I’m having a heart attack)

But the most depressing thing about running is that I feel like Forest Gump.   Not the young Forest Gump who ran fast,

the old Forest Gump.

And that’s not such a bad thing really.  Until I run by a window and see my reflection.

Then I feel like this.

I don’t even know if my left foot is off the ground before my right foot is landing, and vice versa.

Think I’m joking?

This should give you an idea of how slow I was going.

As I crossed an intersection, a woman was running in front of me (in high heels) and I couldn’t keep up w her.

Later, I was running by the entrance to a parking garage and noticed that a car was turning off the street and heading right for me (or where I’d be if I was moving faster than a 97 year old).     The guy didn’t slow down at all, (which normally would’ve pissed me off) but since I’d run by the window earlier, and witnessed with my own eyes how pathetically slow I was running, it didn’t bother me at all.   He probably thought I was standing still.

Towards the end of the run, I passed a burger joint and was able to smile through the pain,
thanks to Phil Hartman.  (the clip surprisingly isnt available on YouTube, so you’ll have to settle for a pic)

“There’s a whooooole bunch of things we’re not going to tell Mrs Clinton about…”

The ALS Ice Bucket Challenge has taken the Nation by storm. Of course the The Badgers jumped right in.

Don’t be afraid to give some green.  http://www.alsa.org/donate/

(Dave’s Mom died of ALS 4 years ago)

http://youtu.be/rt2N95T7Yso

http://youtu.be/azU_VGIGnBk

http://youtu.be/9zdimEWtNLk

http://youtu.be/7abyRyWFAHM

http://youtu.be/ZwlnuSzvkBw

Tom “T-Bone” Tavenners video is here:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/fu7zx9wupnlc8dq/TWT%20-%20Ice%20Bucket%20Challenge.mp4

http://youtu.be/vVWDS_RI4KE?list=UUrSCx2qf-ir87E_y5yuv0uA

Guess what.  Superman isn’t the only one vulnerable to kryptonite.

I never thought I’d compare my wife to Lex Luthor, but she seems to have nailed this.

Go ahead, laugh it up.  Chances are, you’re in the same boat as I am.

You remember when we were younger and the wife would ask us to do things we had no interest in doing, or ask us to buy something that we had absolutely no interest in buying?

It was great.  We’d shoot them down and remind them that they were lucky to be married to us.

Then they’d prepare us a hot meal, put on the game and change into lingerie.

Remember that?

Fast forward to how things are now.

The same type of requests come in, but 99% of the time we do what’s asked or approve the purchase of said item.

You know why?  Because the ball switched courts.

15 years ago, we had everything we wanted.

A hot wife, a good job, a house, a car, good health… you get the picture.

The wives had all this too, but they wanted one more thing.

Kids   

So, we had kids.

And now the ball is forever in their court.

Why?

Because they have something we’ll always want.

And with that, they also have something something I call “The Power of the V”

Think about it.  Before kids, we called the shots.  We were in control.

We were able to do this because we were an essential part of the reproduction process.

(never mind how mind boggling it is that some of our wives chose us to reproduce with them)

The fact is, we could get away with anything.

But, as proven throughout time, men are stupid.

So we relinquished our control and are now mesmerized and fully controlled by “The Power of the V”.

(It’s not so bad really)

Now, here’s how you can learn from the Commish (once again).

I’ve had kids for 14 years now, and it’s probably taken me 12 years to smarten up and not argue with the wife.

Whenever I have in the past, it’s inevitably led to a situation like you see in the picture below.

Instead, work with the Power of the V, and you’ll be rewarded.

The Power of the V is your friend.

Not sure what I mean?  This is how I look at the wife now when she asks me to do something.

Of course, you may hear the phrase “hello, my eyes are up here” a lot.

Stay Thirsty my fellow Badgers.
The Season starts in 2 months!

So I was sitting at a conference on Monday morning (thinking about catching the early flight home from San Diego only to find a couple of nude people jump out of the bathroom blindfolded like a God damn magic show ready to double team your girlfriend)…

…and my boss texts me   “did you try to set up a meeting with Chris Donoghue at Pension Consulting, for next Tuesday with our Portfolio Manager?” (names have been changed to protect the innocent).    And I’m thinking, well what do you think?  Have I been doing this for 23 years or am I a college kid who needs his hand held every step of the way.   (Hello Peter, did you get the memo that says all TPS reports need a cover page, Hmmm?)

So I respond, “of course I did” (Mr Dumbass)

(it’s pronounced DooMaasse).

Remember?   He’s changed firms and he’s now in NY (you’re territory).   I think I told you two months ago?”  (I know I told him two months ago, but he can’t remember what I told him 2 seconds ago).

Then he texted me about 10 more times (all before Noon) which finally prompted me to text back “CAN YOU BE A BIGGER PAIN IN THE ASS RIGHT NOW?”.

And then there was silence.

And more silence.

And more.

–

Perhaps I went to far.

A little over the line?

Screw it.  Think I give a Sh!t?

–

Moments later, I received a text from him which read:  “You must have mistaken me for your wife”

(to his credit, he is a pretty funny guy.  Not Commish funny, but funny)

So I was going to send him a text back that said:  “Nope”     But instead, I  decided to school him in his own game.

No Repsonse was sent back.  The ball was in my court.   He emailed me later, asking how things were going.

Seriously. Do you want to go head to head with the Commish?

I felt like Mitch in Old School.

Commish: Booker, make two copies of this petition, have it notarized, and then messenger it over to Langley, and then I need-

Boss: Listen, Donald tells me you got these guys working prep for the arbitration.  I told you five times, I want them working the Sunshine Square deal.

Commish: Well, I locked the Sunshine Square deal yesterday, so now I have them helping with the arbitration, and I’d appreciate it if you let me handle my own team, and don’t get on my ass every time I’m trying to do something.

Boss: All right. Wanna make sure you’re on top of it.

Commish: Well, I am.

Boss: Well, good. Carry on.

–

Carry On, my fellow Badgers.

Carry On.

That’s right, I’m feeling like Ice Cube right now “Drunk as hell but no throwing up, half way home and my pager still blowing up” .  (Lyrics – It Was a Good Day)

Ok, the drunk as hell part was last Saturday night when some of us hit the best Derby Party in New England – The Sandra K Russell Derby Day Benefit for Mito.

The pager still blowing up, is today because I’m getting texts and emails from all my homies about our picture being in the paper and on Boston.com.

Like I’ve said before, it’s not easy being the Commish.  You get to go to all the popular parties, hang with all the cool people, and sometimes that means you get nabbed by the Paps.  (Paparazzi).

And this was one of those times.   And why would the Paparazzi take our picture?   Because we’re married to some tasty Bitches!    Plain and simple.

Check it out for yourself.

The Pimps

The Hoes

Gun Show photobombs “Harty and the Hoes” pic

Who you callin Hoes???

As many of you know, The Commish travels a bit for work.  Ok, a lot.

And since 9/11,  traveling has sucked.  All thanks to our terrorist friends around the world.    (Spineless piece of shit cowards)

At first we were all required to  empty our pockets and walk through metal detectors.   Then we had to start taking off our shoes (thank you idiot shoe bomber).   Next we had to take off our coats and sweatshirts before walking through the aforementioned detector.   And now we have to remove our shoes, our coats, our sweatshirts, the contents of our pockets and even our belts, and then go into a machine that quickly takes an x-ray of us.    I could see the logic in a lot of the security measures up until the x-ray part.  Do they really need to see picture of my unit before I board a plane?   Whatever.   It is what it is.    So for the past 12.5 years, I’ve waited patiently in lines at the airport before boarding the hundreds of flights I’ve taken.   And it’s been painful.

However, now I have TSA-Pre Check.   And this is how it went when I showed up for a flight two weeks ago.

Commish:  Hi, this is my first time through this lane, what do I need to do?

TSA:  Take your cell phone out of your pocket and go through the metal detector.

Commish:  That’s it?

TSA:  Thats it.

You can keep your shoes on, your coat on, your belt on, your laptop can stay inside the bag, you can have change in your pockets, and they don’t take an x-ray of your penis!

For those of you having trouble imagining just how easy this process was, watch the video below.    That’s exactly how I felt.   I kept the shoes on my feet, the coat on my back and I was eating pizza in no time.  Just like Tony Manero.

And, this is how I used to feel like going through security at airports.

The 2013-2014 HBHL Champions were crowned last night.  The Gray team fought back from an early deficit to win the Honey Badger Cup.

Winning Team members: Weiner, Casey, Ring, Carleo, Tavenner, DiCenzo, Giggey, Berube, Beams.

Also on roster but did not participate in playoffs, Landry, Brezner, Walles.   These players names will not go on Cup*.

*Chapter 6, section 3, paragraph 2a, lines 3 & 4 of the HBHL Rule book state “team members must participate in the playoffs in order to have name engraved on HB Cup.  Any player who fails to do so will not be eligible to have illustrious privlege bestowed upon them.”    Anyone who would like to challenge these rules may refer to struggling attorney Tavenner.   But I honestly don’t know why any of that would cause you concern.

Additional name to be engraved on cup: M Kiley**

**Chapter 12, section 1, paragraph 32, line 6  of the HBHL Rule book states “Any player who is called up from the Sub list during the playoffs will have their name engraved on the HB Cup if the team they played on wins the Cup.”

Congratulations to all winning team members.

Immediately after the game, a reporter was interviewing members of the winning team.   Unbelievably, all of the team members (except Dew Rag, T-Bone and Krafty) answered the following question in the exact same way.

Reporter:  Congratulations, you’ve just won the Honey Badger Cup, What are you going to do next?

Player from Gray Team:   I’m gonna go Home.

L – A – M – E                       L – A – M – E                     L – A – M – E                       L – A – M – E

The Clubhouse is your home after games.  Especially after you’ve just won the Cup.

1992.

That’s the year I started using the HOV lane in the mornings when I commute to Boston.    You could call me a rule breaker,  a rebel.    Breaking the Law by Judas Priest is the only song my car radio will play.

Driving by the poor saps who sit in the right lanes is awesome.   Sometimes I open my sunroof, raise my right arm and extend my middle finger while leaning on my horn.   Just to piss everyone off.    The Commish is a complete bad ass.  (anyone buying this?)

Anyway, guess how many times I’ve been caught doing this.      Exactly.

Until today.

I’ve always thought the fine must be an insane amount because barely anyone does it.   I would’ve guessed something in the neighborhood of $150, plus it would go on your insurance.    Well, I would’ve been way off.

It’s $20 Bucks.  “Fail to obey sign” is the violation.   I’m pretty sure that doesn’t go on my insurance.   What a joke.

After the Trooper handed me the citation, I thanked him for his good work, apologized for violating the rules, started my car, and drove the rest of the way into Boston.  IN THE HOV LANE.

Like I said.  I’m a Rebel.